


Three Times Erin Gilbert and Jillian Holtzmann Had Sex

by Lysippe



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, First Time, but I did anyway, have some porn, here, idk what I'm doing and I hate writing porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8210060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysippe/pseuds/Lysippe
Summary: Holtzbert sex three ways. There is no plot, at all, no matter how hard you look. All consensual, all detached from canon.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write porn. Or smut of any kind. And I don't think I'm particularly good at it. But a while ago I got a prompt for Holtzbert hate sex, and tbh I've put it off for a while but then I was checking my notes on my phone and realized I have three separate beginnings of Holtzbert smut on there, so I figured I would put them into writing. This is just the first one, and it's not hate sex, because I thought this went better as a first chapter, but it's something. So, enjoy? I guess?
> 
> Also, Erin Gilbert is a top. Fight me.

The first time, Erin takes her time.

Long fingers draw equations over your skin with the lightest of touches, as though unlocking the secrets of the universe through the feel of her skin on yours. Soft palms run in tandem up your stomach, over your breasts, and down your ribs. And the way her hands feel as they map the contours of your body, thumbs dipping beneath your hipbones, holding you down as you arch into her touch, elicits a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob from the back of your throat.

If Erin notices, she doesn’t say anything.

And the feeling of her mouth on yours, tongue tentatively grazing your lower lip in her first sign of hesitation so far, sends a shiver straight down your spine. But she gets over it quickly, and your legs clench around her hips involuntarily as she moves on, tongue grazing your jawline, your nipples, your navel, before finally bringing her chin to rest atop your pelvic bone.

And when she looks up at you, you see her eyes cloud up, and feel her deep, shuddering breaths resonating throughout your entire body. But you don’t say anything. Because for all her faults and foibles, Erin Gilbert doesn’t do anything halfway, and you can’t help but appreciate that right now.

And you feel the question, rather than hear it; the request for permission implicit in the hand that dips between your legs, fingers combing gently through coarse blonde curls, _waiting_ for you to say something, do something, give her any sort of sign that, yes, _this is what you want_. 

You appreciate that, too.

You jerk your head quickly, the closest you can get yourself to a nod in the moment, but your eyes lock onto hers in the process and she stares you down with a level of intensity and focus you had no idea she possessed.

This, you realize, is Erin Gilbert in her element; confident and skilled and the most _gorgeous thing you have ever seen_ _in your life_.

And then, in an instant, Erin is inside you; one finger, then two, moving swiftly, her fingernails scratching you just the tiniest bit in a way that makes you come just a little undone, as though you weren’t already. And all thought, logical or otherwise, ceases. She moves in long, fluid strokes, her tongue on your clit matching the rhythm of your hips, matching the movements of her fingers, matching the clenching of your hands in her hair, matching _you_ , and there cannot possibly be a better sight in the world than Erin Gilbert’s head between your legs.

And she is so, _so_ easy to lose yourself in, and the longer you move together, the more uncertain the boundary between your bodies becomes. Because Erin is as relentless as the pressure between your legs, and the motion of your bodies, the ragged, inconsistent breaths that fight to escape your lungs as you grasp blindly for any way to stabilize yourself, is entirely too much to bear. 

All at once, Erin’s hand stills inside you, and she holds her position as the pressure builds, white hot and blinding, and electricity courses from the tips of fingers curled _just so_ , and you see numbers and stars in ice blue eyes as everything inside you unravels.

You don’t come that first time, and Erin looks disappointed. But it’s perfect, and she’s perfect, and you tell her that.


End file.
